were perfectly
familiar with; so runs got piled on in a way that raised our hopes
pretty considerably, especially when Sidney Grant took Charley Bates's
place--that worthy having in his second over skied a ball that was
immediately caught, sending him out for five runs, two singles and a
three, or two more than he had totalled in his last match.

It was a sight to see Sidney as he cut and drove the slow and fast
bowlers of our opponents' team for four almost every over; whilst John
Hardy backed him up ably by remaining, as he was instructed, strictly on
the defensive, and blocking every ball that came at all near his wicket
Sidney was the run-getter; he had simply to run.

We had scored thirty-eight for the loss of only one wicket, and the
captain seemed to be well set and good to make the century--as he had
done a month before in our match with the Smithwick Club--when a new
bowler went on at the lower end of the ground, and "a change came over
the spirit of our dream."

"I don't like the way that chap walks up to the wicket," said Tom Atkins
to me. "I saw him taking Sidney's measure when he was serving as long-
stop, and if he doesn't play carefully, he'll bowl him out almost with
his first ball."

"Not he," said I sanguinely. "He seems too confident."

"Ah well! we'll see," replied Tom.

That new bowler was something awful. He sent in the balls at such a
pace that they came on the wicket like battering-rams, and their twist
was so great that they would pitch about a mile off and appear to be
wides, when all of a sudden they would spin in on a treacherous curve,
right on to a fellow's leg-stump. John Hardy stood them well enough,
blocking away with a calm sense of duty, and never attempting to strike
one. But poor Sidney lost his head in a very short time, and hitting
out wildly at what he thought was a short ball, it rose right over the
shoulder of his bat and carried off his bails in the neatest manner
possible--two wickets for forty-one runs, as the captain had only
managed to put on three runs since that fiend in human form had come on
to bowl.

Of course there was a wild shout of victory from the Inimitables when
our best bat was disposed of, and corresponding woe in our camp, which
was sympathisingly shared in by all the Little Peddlingtons around, and
in the midst of the excitement I went to the wicket to fill the lamented
vacancy.

"Mind, Jack," said Sidney, who did not allow the sense of defeat